The Things We Do For Love
by paper.boat
Summary: "He remembers holding her close, his valid hand gently caressing her body. A bliss too precious and too short, crippled by a creeping fear of the day after. The knowledge that it wasn't meant to be, that somehow he still was not worthy." — In the minds of Jaime and Brienne in 8.04, after he learns what happened at Dragonstone. Fix-it of sorts, I did my best to stick to canon. (WIP)
1. He stands there

He's standing there, in the courtyard of this castle he so dislikes. He's standing there and he does not move, his eyes fixed on the women as they speak, as they notice him. He's coming closer, drawn to them, and he can see on their faces that _something_ isn't just quite right. "What happened?" Silence falls, and he notices the side glance as he just stands there, agonizing witness to the unspoken words between the two women. It's odd, he thinks, to see them together. The Lady of Winterfell and her sworn Knight. They could not be more different, but they both have a way of standing straight that could almost fool someone into thinking they're somehow related. But Brienne does not share Sansa's delicate features, her slim frame, her piercing, cunning green gaze. No, Brienne is nothing like Sansa. Nothing like any other woman, in truth. If he didn't know her, he'd mistake her for a cold, austere knight, only driven by her insane sense of honour and loyalty. But he knows her. Under the furs, under the armour, he knows her when she lets her guard down. He knows the woman behind the knight, the spark in her eyes when she smiles, her laugh and her soft moans in their sheets. He remembers holding her close, his valid hand gently caressing her body. A bliss too precious and too short, crippled by a creeping fear of the day after. The knowledge that it wasn't meant to be, that somehow he still was not worthy.

But as Brienne speaks, as she delivers the news, they're both back in their roles. Masks on, shoulders back. He understands immediately what that means, when Brienne tells him the bad news. She's facing him but does not come closer, because it's an official matter. Euron Greyjoy, she said, and it makes Jamie wants to rip his heart out. He knew it, when he left, that the shadow of the Kraken would be growing over King's Landing. Guess he underestimated how fast. He does not really pay attention to the casualties but notes that the silver-haired Queen will not have time to mourn her dragon, as she will have to mourn her friend and trusted advisor. He already knows that falling in the hands of his sister is a death sentence. There is no way back.

He's trying to connect the dots, Jamie, but he is not a politician. He's never been one for mind-games and manipulation, not one to give strategy advice or to plot behind closed doors. He's only ever wanted his sword and his family, to fight and to love freely.

But Sansa is not of his kind. She's most clever than any of them here, and far more dangerous in her own way. If he tries hard enough, he can picture the girl as she was some years ago, a little dove, eyes wide open as she fell from her promised daydream to a living nightmare. Her voice was different back then. He wonders what happened – maybe he knows but he just doesn't care. Brienne was right, he has not seen many girls like her, rising from her ashes, surviving against all odds. She's been brave and she's turned into a wolf, hungry for revenge. For blood. Her eyes don't lie, she means exactly what she means, casting him a look he can't quite understand as she turns away. _Seems like she won't get the chance_.

Cersei's smile appears in his mind, but he doesn't remember when it last reached her eyes. It must have been so long ago, when she and him were the only two persons who mattered in this world. When he could make her happy. Before the wars, the weddings, the treasons. Before the madness, the lies, the broken oaths. Before love died.

Now he only sees her green eyes shining with defiance,

Hears her cold voice,

"No one walks away from me".

Brienne's gaze follows Sansa as she leaves, but she fails to hide her confusion. There are not many things that she can hide, she is like an open book, and her impossible blue eyes convey so many emotions, he would not know how to name them all. She does not say anything, only stays here with him for a minute or two, or ten. When she looks at him, Jaime's still standing here, lost in his thoughts and he does not even nod when she leaves the courtyard too. He can't see the worry in her eyes, can't hear her heartbeat increase as she walks away,

Now he's alone

And his mind won't stop torturing him,

Dancing with his ghosts.


	2. By the fireplace

The dance of the flames is hypnotizing. The heat warms his face but he feels so bloody cold, sitting there by the fire in silence. Arms crossed, his left hand resting on his knee, fingers tense. It's only the crackling wood and Brienne's light breathing that remind him of the life outside his mind. They haven't talked much in the afternoon, not after she told him the news. He did not find her until after dinner, and he remembers the worry on her face. She hides it so badly, and it does not suit her.

What suits her is being in his arms, naked, vulnerable, lovable. So pure, so beautiful, so strong and so brave. It's only when their bodies dance together that they become comfortable, and it's almost like a swordfight: they know what they have to do without talking to each other. It's in her smiles, the way she bites her lip. It's in his moan, the way he grabs her thigh. They move together like they fight together, with fluidity, completely in sync. Their first night was a first time for both of them but it truly feels like they've had thousands of years of practice. It's her becoming used to making love, it's him getting to know someone else for the first time. It feels good. _Right_. His golden hand is set aside because she does not care, because she's seen so much worse – she's seen him covered in mud and shit, his hand around his neck, a dying man. He was a corpse when she brought him back to life.

It feels like a century ago. So much has happened since then, and the time they spend here feels like heaven. Their feelings hidden, all the words unsaid. It's all so complicated and they are both afraid, but somehow, they know. He's sure of that. It's all in the way they look at each other, in the soft smiles on their lips, in the way her hands seek his to hold. It's him letting go of Cersei, of the ways she used to please him. Learning new pleasures with Brienne as she explores his body, as he explores hers. It's him finding someone who looks at him like he's a knight in shining armour; it's her loving someone who looks at her like she's a goddess of this Earth. It does not matter that she isn't beautiful, because she is so much more than just that, because he _believes_ she is beautiful. And her light shines through her sapphire eyes, so much that it is overwhelming.

Tonight, he does not know what to do when they come in the room, his thoughts still plagued by an impossible dilemma. Brienne knows that. So when they're back, safe and away from the judging tongues and looks, she very gently cups his face and kisses it. It's still a little awkward, she's not used to this tenderness, this intimacy. Still does not realize that he, Jaime Lannister, the most handsome, most famous knight in the Seven Kingdoms, is here, with her. Only her. But she does it anyway. She feels like a feather, her lips brushing over his to ask permission. She's always careful, graceful almost, and he can feel her fear, feel that she does not quite yet believe it. Believe them. But then, as always, he responds to her kiss. At first, it's tender - soon, it's fuelled with passion and lust. _Fuck loyalty_, he thinks, and before they know it they are naked, body against body, and he knows that is where he belongs. He holds her firmly, more than the other nights, and he whispers something in her ear that she doesn't understand. He buries his face in the crook of her neck – she loves it – and after love he lets her fall asleep. He cannot follow her; he knows he shall not rest. Maybe an hour passes before he moves, before he cannot stand the screams in his mind anymore. He knows it's unfair and cruel as he slowly rises from the bed, his cold hands and his cold heart making him shiver. He dresses up in silence and comes to sit by the fire to think. To gather the strength to do what he has to do. The honourable thing.

If he is being honest with himself, his decision was taken as soon as Brienne told him. The madness, the victory, and Cersei on top of all this nightmare, sitting on her Iron Throne with her bloody crown, and only revenge in her eyes. But he has delayed it. Fought back the urge to come back to… to what? Stop her? Save her? It's a suicide mission. She won't give up the throne, not for him and not for their unborn child. Otherwise, she would have left with him a long time ago and they'd be living freely in Essos, or somewhere else, somewhere safe. She won't stop her war until they are all dead: the Dragon Queen and her dragons, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Tyrion… Brienne. Cersei won't stop wanting blood until Daenerys' army is torn to pieces, burnt, destroyed and forgotten with no one in the Realm to remember their names.

And he let that happen.

Maybe he could not have done anything. Maybe he could have.

He's always been weak, when it comes to Cersei. All the hateful things she did, he forgave. He closed his eyes. He found her excuses, he convinced himself that she had her reasons. He took the blame more than once. And above all he tried to protect her - from Robert, from the Court, from their enemies, from _her_ enemies… from herself. And he failed. But Tyrion was right, Jaime knows that, deep inside. He always knew exactly who Cersei was. He loved her anyway, and he just didn't care. He had no one to care about beside his family and his father he always disappointed. Cersei was his everything. He never even had to fall in love with her, to court her, to prove himself to her. They loved each other from the moment they were born, and he could not possibly know someone else. She was a given. There was no world without Cersei in it. His twin, his lover, his other half. One person in two bodies. Forty years of sharing his heart and mind with her. Forty years of devotion for her. Until…

He sighs, and turns around.

Brienne is sleeping peacefully under the thick furs. Every evening since the first, she falls asleep before him. Happy. Serene. When she wakes up first, he guesses that, just as he spends so many nights studying every detail of her face, in the morning she does the same. For he is always next to her, so close to her, thinking about them, her, what they were doing. About how she's the first woman he _fell in love_ with. The first woman he's learned to love. She has haunted his nights ever since he came back to King's Landing after their traumatizing journey. The blue of the sea on sunny days kept reminding him of her impossible eyes. And his missing hand, despite the gold, made him think of Brienne too. It's odd for him to come to terms with that, even after all the time they've spent together in Winterfell, hidden from the world, away from his ghosts.

He wonders how the Gods have allowed them to share these stolen moments. Because that's what it is. They will not ever be free until the Last War is won. What they have is a respite, a fragile light in the long night. It was not meant to last, and what happened a few hours ago confirmed this. Her innocence, her love, her faith, are gifts he does not deserve, gifts he cannot enjoy. And when he kisses her with passion, when he holds her; when they are alone in a corridor and he grabs her hand, when they smile at each other across the room… it's only hurting him more.

Because it cannot last. Not if Cersei is on the throne.

He's taken his decision.

He knows very well, when he stands up without a noise, that there might be no coming back. He knows very well that this will break the heart of the woman who sleeps in their bed – but he hopes she understands. It's what he has to do, it's what honour commands.

There is no peace, there is no hope for anyone until Cersei is on the throne.

If the Dragon Queen comes for her, she will not give her a chance, and she'll burn his sister to ashes.

And the guilt strikes him hard, chokes him, drowns him.

Because in spite of everything, even though Cersei is lost in her own mind, even though she is maybe beyond redemption, even though he'd give anything to stay here, in the dark room of Winterfell, he cannot stand and watch Cersei die.

He has to try. To save her, to prevent a disaster. To make up for her crimes, for his crimes. No matter the cost, he has to try.

Jaime knows there is a chance he does not come back. He also knows Brienne would try to talk him out of it - or worse, that she would follow him. And he won't have the most beautiful, pure, innocent person to have ever loved him, killed in his name.

His eyes water as he quietly exits the room.

It's what honour commands.

* * *

**Aw, thank you for the follows and the likes ! This is truly heartwarming, I'm so glad you liked my story and I hope that you liked this chapter as well. There should be one last part, coming this week. Wish you all a great day x **


	3. And she wakes up

The sound wakes her up instantly.

She always had a light sleep – she's a warrior (no, she's a _knight_ now), and that is a requirement. She needs to be always ready to intervene, to face danger, to wake up and fight at any time of the day and of the night. So, when she hears the door closing, she wakes up, alert but not worried. Because she knows Jaime's with her anyway – of course she can defend herself, but she feels better with him by her side. Not safer, not more secure, just… whole.

That's why she looks first on his side of the bed, his name painted on her lips. But the place is empty. _Oh_. That's confusing, and with a frown, she sits, her blue eyes looking for him in their small room which is only lit by the dancing flames in the fireplace. He isn't sitting in front of the hearth, like he sometimes does when he is worried and cares to not disturb her. In fact, Jaime is not anywhere to be seen. Her confusion increases. He rarely wakes up at night, and a few days ago, when he did leave the warmth of their bed to get something to eat from the kitchen, he _was_ quite nosy. He did not vanish in silence. He never does. Of course, his pride and his arrogance have been somewhat tamed since he came back to Winterfell (_for her, _she knows that now), but he usually makes sure that his presence is acknowledged, or his absence noticed. And when he leaves the bed, he comes back quickly, and then presses his body against her with a smile, always. She complains that he's cold and he chuckles, daring her to keep him warm. So she dares, and she knows that it is _him._ Him giving her a glimpse of the man behind the knight, the Kingslayer, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, the heir to his house. Him letting her know who he is behind his masks, his games – just Jaime Lannister.

Then, she notices that his things are gone – his coat, his boots – and she _knows_.

She knows what he's going to do, and it suddenly makes her sick.

She's not one to lose her composure, Brienne. She rarely gives in to anxiety, to fear, to rage, because she has to be better than this. She's a warrior (a _knight_), she can't let her emotions control her. They are guidance, but they cannot and must not drive her impulses: a knight shall be measured and responsible. She can't protect the people she cares about if she gives in easily to her emotions.

This is why she enjoys having some time alone, too. Because it allows her to think, to cry, to scream, to laugh. When she's truly alone she does that, because no one can mock her, no one can judge her. Whatever she does she is judged anyway: her emotions are precious to her, and she'd rather keep them for herself only.

Until Jaime. 

It's been difficult to trust him. To _really_, fully trust him - not with her life or her honour, but with her heart. To allow him to embrace her in his strong arms, to lose herself in his impossible, wonderful green eyes and his beautiful smile. She knew she did trust him when she began to let him see how she felt. Maybe even before, at Riverrun, or when they came back together to King's Landing, or maybe even when they shared those baths in Harrenhal. She couldn't say precisely - all that matters now is that she does trust him. Especially now.

She still does not quite understand how easy it is to _be _with him. Of course, it's still awkward sometimes, and she's still shy, and she does not fully believe that what they live together is real, in spite of their time spent together and the sweet words he tells her in the secrets of their nights. He is, after all, Jaime Lannister. The best fighter in all of Westeros, until recently. One of the most handsome men on the whole continent. He belongs to one of the richest, most powerful, most influential families in the Realm. He's rich, gifted, godly. And she's… Brienne. Not even the Lady of Tarth, not really. She's been a joke her whole life, year after year, decade after decade. She never did fit with anyone, or anywhere – until she met him. Until she came in the North. And now, she has both.

She has him whom she can trust with her own life, and to whom she's trusted with her heart and body. She has the Starks whom she'd swore to protect, and she has built a strong relationship with Lady Sansa that is based on mutual respect and trust. She's even been her advisor.

For the first time ever, Brienne has everything she has ever truly wanted.

Love. Acceptance. Respect. Recognition. Trust. Happiness.

A lover and a family.

She refuses to lose one or another. 

So as the realization of what he's about do to sends the adrenaline rushing through her veins, her body moves on its own. It's like before a fight: she readies herself while her mind is somewhere else, otherwise focused, trying to come up with the best strategy, giving her the words of bravery she needs to hear. She barely acknowledges the long, dark robe she wraps around her body, nor the boots she puts on before she leaves the room.

All she knows is that she needs to stop him, and she needs to keep him safe.

Alive.

Safe, and alive, with her.

* * *

**Sorry for the delay, I've been a little busy - and thank you for the likes, the reviews, the follows and the favs ! I'm so very grateful that you like this story **

**I was thinking that my story would have more than three chapters in the end, because I've included Brienne's POV here and I still have to write the parting scene. I also wanted to write it from both Jaime and Brienne's minds. Or maybe I'll merge it into one big, big chapter? Idk yet - would you prefer two or one chapter for the last scene? **

**Besides, given how ep. 5 went last week, and given the fact that I am not ready to acknowledge what happened in the show anytime soon, I was thinking of writing a sequel to this short fic, where, you know... things end better. A real fix-it fic, probably longer, with other characters, to fit what I had in mind for after 8x04. **

**What do you think ? **

**Anyway, thank you for the support x**


	4. Their hearts bleed

_This damned hand_, he thinks.

He's been struggling for five good minutes against the saddle of his horse and each second is a pain. The fucking North is fucking cold, still freezing cold, even though the Others are now dead and gone. Or is it in his heart, the ice creeping, eating his soul alive? He grunts and sighs, _this fucking saddle_, he thinks, just as he hears footsteps coming on his right.

He knows it's Brienne even before he sees her. Is it this feeling, is it what lovers do, knowing when the other's around? He recognizes her everywhere: her steps, her shadow, even the way she breathes. He had that too with Cersei, but it made sense to him because they were supposed to be one soul in two bodies. With Brienne, this is different. They are two souls, two bodies, but they are like one when they are together. He'd find her in the dark amongst five thousand other women, he'd find her everywhere.

_Yet, you're leaving._

He clenches his good fist, he clenches his teeth. Too late to pretend. Too late to turn back, here, in the middle of the night.

He hears her coming closer, but he won't turn his head: he's too afraid to break his heart in the process, and hers. He could plead, _let me go_, but he doesn't. Coward. He waits for her to do something, to make the first move. And she does, of course she does. She always had more courage, more honour - and the only time she did not dare, the only time she would not do what was to be done, he took the leap of faith and joined their lips together. But now the memory of her warmth is far, and he's just being a coward. No golden lion, no hero of Winterfell. Just a man, leaving.

She crosses the yard with her long legs (oh, how he loves them), the thin fabric of her dress clutched tightly against her chest (oh, how he loves it), arms crossed. He doesn't look at her, truly, he can't, but he already guesses the frown of worry of her face, her magnificent eyes shining with an emotion that he dreads to think about. Her steps slow and she stops a few meters away from him, and he feels that she's _right there_, so close. Purposefully, his eyes do not look at her. And he knows, under the faint halo of the starts, in this desert courtyard, that she's a marble statue born from the moonlight. He can imagine her pale face, the light blond of her hair, he can almost hear the question her eyes are asking. But not the eyes, no. If he sees them, then he is lost.

Brienne waits, and he ignores her, and her impatience gets the better of her. He wishes she hadn't, he wishes she had grabbed him by the hand instead, said something like, 'why do you always have to be so annoying' and then she'd lead him in their bedroom and she'd kiss his sorrow away. Does she even suspect why he's here? Does she know?

"They're going to destroy this city".

Ah, of course she does. She's always known. Her voice is quiet and calm, it fits her warrior mask. So very far from the whispers and the laughs she had shared with him during all these previous nights. She pauses, but when he does not answer, she continues. "You know they will". Yes, he knows. The ruin of King's Landing was thought and planned thoroughly, and will be executed as soon as the Dragon Queen sees fit. Only ashes to remain. Yet he has to do this, no matter the cost. He has to try, he has to… every cell of his body wants to turn around and scream, say no, refuse what his brain commands. Jaime wants _her_, his Brienne, his Lady Knight, her safety, her innocence - and she's so close he could yield to her touch in a matter of seconds. But he doesn't. He can't drag her into his mess – she's seen enough. He has to end this alone: it is his fight. His fight against himself, against Cersei; against everything that is rotten and vile in the world, against forty years of ghosts and lies. Its history repeating itself, but instead of the insanity of a Mad King, it is the wrath of two Queens that will bring fire and blood to the Capital. So many innocent lives at stake, and him, again, in the middle of all this, who has to make a choice.

He had often wondered, after slaying Aerys, after hearing the name Kingslayer – _would I do it again?_ Sometimes, he believes yes. Most of the time, when he is reminded about all that it meant. Some other times he thinks no, when his nickname becomes too cruel to his ears, when the laughter of others behind his back is too painful, when the secret becomes too heavy to bear. But then he had shared it, and it had felt less of a burden with Brienne to carry part of his honour into her heart. Tonight, however, he knows for sure. The answer is yes: he would, he is, doing it again. Going to put his life at stake to save a kingdom, to save the lives of the innocents who will never know, who probably won't even care. To save a woman he loved, the woman he loves, and shall he survive, to know that at least, he tried. So, he says, as casually as he can manage, "Have you ever run away from a fight?". He's still not looking at her, and he doesn't know what to expect –

He certainly does not expect her to cross the distance; and in an instant her hands are on his cheeks and he has to force himself to keep his stare down. Her palms are warm against his cold cheeks, and not soft like Cersei's. No, they are callous like a warrior's, like a Ser, but they feel real, they feel good. Her thumbs gently caress his temples and she says in a steady voice, "You're not like your sister" and at this he cannot resist. He lifts his gaze only to find the seas of Tarth looking at him, and now he's drowning, he's drowning in her power. Eyes filled with so much emotions he can't fucking breathe, and her hands on his face keep calling him home. She must see how incredulous he looks when she tells him _that_, because then she adds quickly, "You're not, you're better than she is" and Jaime's mind's gone like that. He wants to say, _I know and I owe it to you_, but he doesn't. Because her thumb now gently touches his hair, the soft feeling of her fingers on his neck, and it's too much, it's all _too much_.

He's lost –

Lost in her, lost in her words that he wants to believe. That he wants to hate. Because there is no easy way out of this.

"You're a good man and you can't save her".

No?

But what if he can? Would a good man stay, would a good man try? Brienne's voice is gentle yet commanding and he knows she's doing her best to convince him to stay. She's pushing all the right buttons, the warrior mask slipping off a little, but her honesty remains. And he knows she does not lie – maybe that's the worst part. It's not a game of persuasion, she _means _it. She believes he is a good man, she believes his sister is beyond redemption.

Does he?

Would a good man stay? Would a good man try, even when there's no hope, even when he's just running after the ghost of the girl he once thought was his other half? He does not know. But he knows that he could not stay here, and wait for her to die in her madness, holding on to the cursed throne until her last bone has melted, until she's torn to pieces by a dragon, or by the Dragon Queen herself.

"You don't need to die with her. Stay here".

No, he does not need to die with her, he wants to say, _I want to stay_. But he needs to be there when his twin dies, if she dies. Despite all the dark feelings, despite the threats, the anger, the tears, the resentment. Despite the hate and the hurt, despite the treasons and the lies… because it owes it to her. Because staying would be betraying half of who he used to be. But he also wants to say yes, yes, Ser, I'll stay with you. He wants to give in, to feel Brienne's arms around him, he wants to bury his head in the crook of her neck and cry his misery away. He wants to seek comfort in her, to love her, to stay with her for a thousand years. But if he did, he would not be a good man.

He would be a selfish man, and he would tarnish her, he would not be worthy. He would bring a threat on her head.

He cannot be free while the end of the world is happening, and he cannot be free until he tries to stop it.

But his eyes are still lost, and just watch helplessly as Brienne's warrior mask slips for good and crumble at their feet. "Stay with me", she says, and it's almost a whisper, the desperation growing in her voice. _I love you_, he hears, and his heart breaks when she says, "Please". Her eyes are shining bright but only for the tears and not for the stars. It's a prayer in the night, it's a single plea to stop the unstoppable, an absolution that she's ready to give to erase all of his sins. And she's so soft, so beautiful, so pure; she's a Lady and a Knight, she's the Maiden, Warrior, Stranger, she's all in what he believes in and more. But he lowers his gaze again, feeling the weight of all this words, and because otherwise he'll crumble too, and he cannot.

He has a duty to do.

And so, very slowly, he brings his good hand to her arm, his gloved hand caressing hers. His thumb finds her wrist and as she did before with him, soothes the skin underneath. He nods, slowly.

"You think I'm a good man", he begins. He does not know what to say, but he tries nonetheless. He owes her this – but she has to understand, she _cannot_ be a part of this. This is his fight, alone.

But her eyes scream yes, without a doubt.

Her eyes scream love,

His eyes respond.

Yet, he talks.

"I've done terrible things for her. For Cersei". He pushes the name out of his mouth, it has a cruel ring to it and he hates himself for this. Brienne takes the blow, not gracefully, her features become distorted by grief. "She has done terrible things, too. And she will not stop." Brienne's breath stops for a second and they just look at each other. "If you believe I am a good man, then you know what I have to do", and her eyes open suddenly, and she is horrified, she cries "No!", but he stops her: "It's what honour commands." And he sees the panic rising in the sapphires like the tide, he tightens his grip around her wrist. _I am not choosing her over you_, it says. _I am trying to save you both, I am trying to save us all._ "She was, she will always be, a part of me. And I can't let her burn, I can't!". His words are harsher than he intended but his eyes become wild, too. Pain is shared, and Jaime's begging her to understand. "I can't atone for her crimes, but I can atone for the crimes I've done for her." As his gaze focuses a little, he notices that Brienne's tears seem like pearls, rolling on her cheek, leaving a delicate trace around her eyes. More than ever she looks like a work of art despite the hurt, her features highlighted against the dark of the night, all marble and pearls and sapphires, all begging him to come home. "I pushed a boy out of a window, crippled him for life, for _her_. I killed my cousin with my own hands… smashed his head with a rock, to get back to _her_." The words come out of his mouth in despair, in a rush, before he can attempt to stop them. It's him, drowning, fighting against his will; it's him saying one thing and thinking another, it's his tongue and his sharp words against the brush of his thumb on her hand. It's him pushing her away. Brienne opens her mouth, says in a sob, "Crimes that were forgiven, you don't need to-" but then again he interrupts her.

"But I could never forgive myself for these. And I will not forgive myself, not ever, if I stay here with you and let her die. If I stay here with you and let her win." The implications, he knows, would be even worse than Cersei's death. "If I stay here with you and let one million people die in the fires of the Dragon Queen". Is he crying? He's not aware anymore. His vision becomes blurry, but he blinks the tears away. "If I stay here with you and do nothing", he ends, hoarsely. In front of him Brienne breaks, and very carefully, he lowers her hand to her side, but his hand does not leave hers, not yet. Somehow, she gives up, and he knows then that she understands. What it means to him. What it means to the memory of his seventeen years-old self, the young golden lion who damned and condemned himself to a life of mockery and sneers, to keeping a secret that would destroy him to the bone.

"She's hateful", he says in a sad voice. "And maybe I am, too."

Brienne's sob breaks his heart, again. Or maybe it's worse than this, he does not know. His mind, his heart, his body, all of it hurt and everything in him is torn apart. Questions without answers, oaths and words of love in the dark, memories of Cersei and Brienne intertwined - and he could be burning or freezing he would not understand the difference.

Has he gone away inside?

To retreat from the pain he causes Brienne, from the pain he causes himself.

Has he gone away inside?

"But I don't want to be anymore."

With these words he turns away from her, his hand leaves her and it's a cold and cruel absence. She cries openly, freely, laying her love and her pain in front of him to see, and he feels like he might throw up. Because he's never seen her like this, because of course he never wanted to do this to her. But he has no choice - she deserves a good man, but he's not enough, not now. Not until his duty is done, whatever his duty might be.

And then…

He carries with him the melody of her cries and the memory of her bleeding sapphire eyes,

And on his horse,

His fist clenched so tightly against the reins it _hurts_,

Bile rising in his throat,

At last, to numb the pain,

He goes away inside.

* * *

**Sorry for the delay, I've been quite busy - but at last I am updating ! One last chapter to come before this little fic is complete, which will be Brienne's POV of this same scene.**

**Also, I tried, guys. I really did try to follow the canon scene but honestly, I couldn't. The version I've written, although far from perfect, already makes more sense to me than the dialogue the scenarists wrote, so it soothes my soul a little. I hope you liked it! I tried to stick to the real thing as much as I could, for this piece of work at least, but damn, it's hard. **

**Thanks for all the lovely reviews, they always brighten my day so so so much! I will definitely write a fix-it after this, a real one, and maybe a sequel... who knows where my inspiration takes me ! **

**Have a great day x**


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